


Letting Go and Holding On

by gloria_scott



Category: Wallander (UK TV)
Genre: Gen, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_scott/pseuds/gloria_scott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of <i>One Step Behind</i>, Linda finds herself a bit smitten by Magnus, but is he really what she needs right now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letting Go and Holding On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilybeth84](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybeth84/gifts).



_She is on her knees again with a gun to her head. Her father is crying, pleading, offering his life for hers…and for one terrible moment, she hopes the man with the gun will say, “Yes, that’s a fair trade” and let her go. A shadow blocks the light; short, sharp explosions assault her ears. She looks up to see Magnus’ face framed against the light, his eyes wild with fear and the threat of death._

 

Linda woke, stifling a scream, the back of her head still tingling where the gun had been pressed. The small guest room in her father’s place was full of early morning sunlight and the sound of birdsong coming through the open window, but they weren’t enough to chase away the shadow of fear that gripped her. There was no point in fighting the tears – they always won out – but her eyes squeezed shut against the sting all the same.  She wrapped her arms around her pillow and imagined it was _his_ arms around her, _his_ lips brushing softly against her forehead, _his_ low voice murmuring words of comfort and safety.

It helped, for a little while. But soon enough she was just holding an old pillow damp with tears, talking to herself in an empty bed. What she needed was real human contact – she needed to see and touch and talk to Magnus again. He had disappeared so quickly after the shooting, and everything at the station had been a whirlwind afterwards as she tried to give a coherent statement about those incoherent events, she’d hardly had a chance to even thank him.

What did she even know about Inspector Magnus Martinsson? Nothing, really. Her dad hardly ever discussed his work or his colleagues with her, but even so she had picked up on the fact that he wasn’t particularly fond of the young detective. Still, he was the key to her getting closer to Magnus. Wheedling information out of her taciturn father wouldn’t be easy, but she was never one to back down from a challenge.

She heard the clank and clatter of Kurt puttering about in the kitchen making breakfast. With a heavy sigh she kicked off the covers and went to join him. 

 

***

 

Linda wandered out into the kitchen, breathing deep the heady scent of fresh brewed coffee. Kurt was already seated at the kitchen table, mug in hand, morning paper to his left, half eaten toast to his right.

“Good morning!” she said brightly, leaning over and placing a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he replied. “Are you hungry? Want some coffee?” He was already up and heading towards the pot of coffee on the counter before she had a chance to answer.

“Yes and yes, please,” she said and took a seat at the table.

This had been their morning ritual for the past week, Kurt making breakfast for her. She’d agreed to stay with him for a while, and, unbelievably, he’d agreed to take some time off. Chief Holgersson may have had something to do with that, but Linda didn’t inquire too closely about it. They’d spent mostly quiet days of meals and afternoon walks and telly late into the evenings. Neither one of them ever seemed eager to retire to their own room, but Linda never asked if he had the dreams, too.

It was sweet and a little sad, she thought, as he handed her a cup of coffee. It was as if he thought that taking care of her now in these little ways could make up for all the times he hadn’t been there when she’d needed him before. But she let him do it, because, well, why dredge all that up again? In that moment at the police station, when his tears had come fast and heavy, and he’d babbled about being such a “crap dad,” that was the first time she had caught a glimpse of the crushing weight of guilt that he carried – over all of the victims he couldn’t save, over her, his daughter whom he did save but couldn’t always reach. There was no anger left in her over the past; now there was only pity, tinged with grief.

Kurt set breakfast on the table: muesli with fresh fruit, yoghurt, and toast with lingonberry jam.

“Looks delicious,” she said, trying to be encouraging. He had taken the recent news of his diabetes, and the subsequent admonition from his doctor to radically change his diet, rather hard.

He sat down across from her and nodded. “Good.”

“And healthy,” she added.

“Yes,” he replied, a bit sharply.

“You see, it doesn’t have to be so difficult,” she continued on, ignoring the warning.

“Yeah, well, it’s easy enough when I’m here and I have the time to prepare a proper meal. But when there’s a case on…”

“You could always make extra on the slow days, and freeze it.”

“Mm.”

Whenever a conversation with her father steered into what he should do – even if it were only to offer a helpful suggestion – he always responded in one of two ways: withdrawal or anger. His eyes fixated on the morning paper and his noncommittal grunt of assent told her she’d already lost him. She backed off, sipping her coffee and staring at the beech tree that grew just outside the kitchen window. They continued eating their breakfast in silence for some minutes before she hazarded to jump into the fray again.

“I never got to thank him, you know. Magnus, I mean.”

He looked up and met her eyes for a moment, then went back to his paper. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“But I should thank him. It’s only right. He did save my life – and yours as well.”

“He was only doing his job. I’m sure he knows that you appreciate it.”

“But I should tell him myself.”

“Then do it,” he said with a shrug.

“What is he even like? You never speak of him, yet you’ve worked together for how many years?”

Kurt waved her off. “He’s fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes, fine,” he replied, getting a bit agitated. “As a police officer, he’s fine. Not as thorough as he could be, though, and I sometimes wonder about his commitment. Not to mention he’s a bit too political for my taste.”

“I should think that would be a plus – being able to navigate office politics. It’s often a political job, isn’t it?”

“But it shouldn’t be,” Kurt said, clearly incensed. The blood had risen in his cheeks and his eyes sparked with anger. “Good police work should stand on its own merits. Politics shouldn’t enter into it.”

Long experience had told her she would touch a nerve with that one. Her own opinion was that he would have been better served if he’d just resign himself to the fact that politics _did_ enter into it. His approach to dealing with it, which was either full head-in-the-sand denial or bull-in-a-china-shop disregard, had nearly cost him his career on several occasions. In a rare moment of self-censorship, she kept that opinion to herself this time. They’d been together nearly seven days without a single argument; it was some sort of record for the pair of them, and she hated to break it. Besides, he was going back to work today, and she would be heading back to Malmö in the morning.  She could keep the peace until then.

“So you think he might be angling to be police chief someday?” she offered, trying to get the conversation focused where it should be – on Magnus.

“He’s ambitious enough, but no, not that.” Kurt paused for a moment, considering. “I could see him running for elected office one day, though.”

“Is he married?” she asked, taking a sip of her coffee and eyeing Kurt over the brim. She hoped the question had sounded nonchalant, but he gave her a sidelong look and then narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“No. But don’t you go getting any ideas.”

“I’m not! I was just curious,” she laughed. “It always surprises me that so many police are married, that’s all. It’s just not a job that’s conducive to normal human relationships.”

He thumped his mug down on the table and scowled at her. “What are you trying to say?

Her best bet was to appease and retreat; he was as prickly as a hedgehog with its spines on end now.

“Nothing, Dad,” she said with a smile, and gave his hand an affectionate little squeeze. “That wasn’t meant to be a swipe at you.”

They fell silent again. Kurt set his empty dish aside, picked up the paper and buried his nose in it. That was probably all she was going to get out of him, then. It was time for her to move forward and enter phase two: direct contact with her target.  

She had already sent a vaguely worded email invitation to Magnus a few days ago…

 _If you ever want…when you have some free time…grab a bite to eat...or drinks…or something…_

…but it was so wishy washy she couldn’t blame him for being just as vague in his response ( _Sure…great…anytime_ ). Maybe if she just happened to run into him, she could invite him out more specifically – maybe even go to lunch, maybe even today.

“Right, I’m just going to pop into the shower,” she said, pushing back her chair and standing up. “I’ll try to drop by the station later for a visit,” she added as she made her way out of the kitchen.

“I’ll be busy,” he called after her. “I’m sure there’ll be a mountain of paperwork waiting for me.”

Even better, she thought.

 

***

 

Linda walked through the glass doors of the Ystad police station just after half twelve. She waved to Ebba, the receptionist, and then made her way to her father’s office. As she approached, she could hear Kurt’s voice through the half-open door.

“Just put a call in to Göteborg, and keep at it until you get an answer. You know how they are over there.”

She knocked twice and walked in without waiting for a response.  She stopped short just inside the door, her heart suddenly skipping like mad. Kurt was seated at his desk with some papers strewn in front of him. Magnus was standing opposite him, arms crossed. At the sound of her knock, he had turned and looked at her. She hesitated just a moment, then bounded into the room with a “Hello, Dad!” and made her way around the desk to give him a kiss.

Magnus looked away, then at his watch. “Right, I’ll just leave you two…”

“No don’t be silly,” Linda interrupted, coming around the desk to stand beside him. “I just popped in to say hello. Finish your business, don’t mind me.”

“We’re done,” Kurt said, shuffling some papers around.

“Okay, well, I know you said you might be busy. Can you get away for lunch at least?” she asked.

Kurt shook his head. “No, I really can’t, I’m sorry. I’ll be home for dinner, though. We can eat out, if you like.”

“Oh, all right,” she said, playfully feigning disappointment. She eyed Magnus. “What about you? Care to join me for lunch? You can spare him, can’t you Dad?”

Kurt shrugged. “It’s up to him. If he thinks he has the time, I have nothing to say about it.”

“Well, what about it then?” she asked Magnus, giving his sleeve a little tug. “I do hate to eat alone.”

“Um,” Magnus seemed to hesitate, then, “Sure, I’ll just go get my jacket.”

She had the irrational thought that if she lost sight of him, he wouldn’t come back. “Oh, you won’t need one,” she said quickly. “It’s absolutely gorgeous outside.”

“It’s just, that’s where my wallet is.”

“Oh, of course.” She could have kicked herself for being so awkward and pushy.

As he was about to walk out the door he stopped and reared up as if he’d just remembered something.

“Ah, you know what? I do have a few things I need to take care of after all.”

Uh oh, here it comes, she thought. Get my hopes up and then dash them to bits.

“Why don’t you go on ahead and get us a table?” he continued. “I shouldn’t be more than a quarter of an hour or so, and I don’t want you to have to wait around here for me.”

Oh, right, good.

“I can do that, sure,” she beamed. “Where would you like to go? I was thinking Café Bäckahästen – we could sit outside if they’re not too busy.”

“Right. See you there in fifteen,” Magnus said.

She watched him leave then turned to Kurt. “Would you like me to bring you something back?” she asked. “A salad, perhaps?”

He grunted an affirmative response, and she ignored the _don’t-think-I-don’t-know-what-you’re-up-to_ look that he shot her as she turned and gave him a little wave before walking out the door.

 

***

 

Linda arrived at the café and was seated at a table outside as she requested. She hated having to wait; her thoughts were consumed by what-ifs. What if he doesn’t show? What if he _does_ show and she makes an utter fool of herself? In her mind, her fantasies had already played out to the point where she had married Magnus and had borne several of his children (two girls and a boy, ideally). Which was ridiculous, she knew. It just made her more nervous and giddy to be around him in the real world. She just needed to stop and come back down to earth already. He was just a man, after all.

But what if he doesn’t show, her anxiety whispered to her. She told it to shut up, and then wished she had thought to carry a book or something in her bag to distract herself while she waited.

In the end, her fears were unfounded. She looked up to see Magnus walking towards her, almost fifteen minutes exactly from the time she’d arrived.

He smiled apologetically and took the seat opposite her. “So sorry. Have you ordered yet?”

“No, and don’t be silly, it’s fine,” she said.

A moment later, the waiter came and she ordered the house salad for herself and one for her father, wrapped for take-away. Magnus ordered the salmon with mixed vegetables. He was health-conscious, then, she thought; he certainly looked like he took care of himself. They chatted idly about the weather and some car smuggling case he was working, until their food came. After a few bites, Linda finally mustered the courage to say what she had been meaning to say the whole time.

“Look, the reason I invited you to lunch…well, I just wanted to thank you for what you did. You saved my life, and my dad’s, and…well, thanks.”

He looked vaguely uncomfortable, lowering his eyes and fiddling with his napkin as she spoke. “You’re welcome, of course,” he said. “It was the only thing I could do, really, given the situation.”

They sat in stilted silence for a moment, and then he raised his eyes and held her gaze. “Are you really glad to be alive?” he asked, rather pointedly.

“Well yes, of course,” she replied, slightly taken aback by the question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well,” he said, dithering a bit. “I mean…you did try to kill yourself once. I was just wondering if you were still…you know…”

Nearly choking on a fork-full of greens, she swallowed hard. “My dad actually told you about that?”

Magnus blinked. “Are you joking? Kurt share a personal story? With me?” He gave a rueful laugh. “No, Anne-Brit was the likelier culprit, though I honestly can’t remember now how I heard about it.”

Mortified did not begin to describe what she was at that moment. She fought the urge to excuse herself and hide in the toilet for the rest of the meal. Instead, she carefully tried to steer the conversation away from her past. “He shares personal things with Anne-Brit, then?” she asked.

“Sometimes. I think. She’s as close as anyone to him, I suppose, though that’s not saying much. He definitely favours her.”

“They’re not…?”

His eyes went wide as he realized what she was asking, and he vehemently shook his head. “No, no, no! I mean, I seriously doubt it. She may be having some trouble at home, but she doesn’t strike me as a cheater. And Kurt, well, I have my issues with him professionally, but I never thought him the philandering type.” He paused, as if hesitant to ask his next question. “That’s not why he and your mum split up, is it?”

“No,” Linda replied.  “I think they were a bad match from the beginning and became the old cliché – stayed together for the children…the child…me. Mum was unhappy for a long time. He always put us second, you see.”

They entered a slightly awkward lull – the kind that often follows the disclosure of somewhat too intimate information among people who barely know each other. Eventually it was Linda who broke the silence.

“Why do you think he favours her? Anne-Brit, I mean.”

Magnus shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. Ask him.”

“But if you had to guess?” she pressed.

“He doesn’t see her as a threat.”

“Unlike you.”

“Yeah, I suppose. When he’s done, I’m next in line. He sees his obsolescence in me or something. Or maybe he just doesn’t like me personally, I don’t know.”

“I’ve been thinking about putting an application in to the police academy. Do you think I should?” She hadn’t told anyone else about that yet, and she wasn’t sure why she decided to bring it up to him now. Perhaps it was what he’d said about being _next in line_ that had prompted it.

He looked at her with brows furrowed. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“I don’t know,” she laughed. “Plenty of sons follow in their father’s footsteps. Why couldn’t a daughter do the same? We could make it a family business of sorts.”

“But you’ve seen first-hand what a crap job it can be – what it’s done to your dad.”

“What has it done?” She had her own ideas about that, but wanted his take on it.

“Oh come on. Do you really need to ask?”

“You spend more time with him than I ever did,” she countered.

“I’m not sure that counts as a good thing,” he said, giving the vegetables on his plate a sprinkle of salt. He looked up at her, chagrined. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”

She laughed and waved him off. “Do you think I don’t know how difficult he can be?”

“Difficult is an understatement. Apparently, he thinks he’s the only one who knows how to lead an investigation or do anything right. And he walks around like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, like he’s some sort of bloody martyr or something.”

Linda found herself getting annoyed and defensive on her father’s behalf. “He cares about people – about the victims. How can that possibly be a bad thing?” she snapped.

Magnus put his hands up as if trying to stave off her off. “All right, all right. But you know what I mean. He takes everything so personally.”

“And you don’t?”

“No, I don’t. It’s a job – just that. If you carry it around your neck like Kurt does, it’s likely to drown you.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.”

“Look, I’m just being honest.”

“I know, and I appreciate that,” she relented, but couldn’t help getting in a jab of her own. “But maybe you’re just afraid of having another Wallander around to deal with.”

“Well I wouldn’t mind you. You’re nothing like him,” Magnus said and smiled. Difficult to resist, that smile, and she felt the corners of her own mouth quirk up in response.

“Well, it was just a thought,” she said. “Hardly a serious one, at that.” That was a lie; she’d been thinking about it a lot lately. Here she was, nearly twenty-four years old and still had no real direction to her life. She had always just sort of floated along on the current, grabbing and holding onto whatever bit of flotsam might pass by – this man here, that job there – until the next thing came along. And what had it gotten her? So far, nothing more than a string of failed relationships and a low-wage waitressing position. Her friends from school had almost all moved on with their plans to have careers and families. She used to think not having any sort of plan made her edgy and spontaneous, but now she just felt adrift and lost.

“Why not be an artist like your grandfather?” Magnus suggested. “I think it suits you more.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you may have had some trouble in the past, but you just seem so full of life now. I don’t really believe in the myth of the tortured artist. I think art comes more out of creativity and playfulness, and intense curiosity. I think you have those things in abundance.”

Was he buttering her up or something? Either way, it was working. She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“I don’t paint or anything, but I do write a bit of poetry now and again.”

“I’d like to read it some time.”

“Oh, no!” she said, shaking her head and laughing. “It isn’t very good, honestly.”

“Rubbish. I’m sure it’s better than anything I could ever write.”

Their talk went back and forth, from playful musings on shared memories of childhood games to heated debates on politics. He was actually a bit more conservative for his age than she’d expected, but she thought that most police tended to be so. They spent an easy hour together, though Linda quite lost track of the time, having been swept up in the warm blue expanse of his eyes.

 

***

 

They finished their meal, and Magnus insisted on picking up the bill. As they were preparing to go, he placed a friendly hand on her arm and smiled.

“You know, if there’s anything you need, or if you just want to talk, here’s my mobile number.” He pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled the digits on a page torn from a small notebook – the kind her father was forever searching for and never finding. “See you back at the station, then?”

“Um,” she hesitated. There was no reason for her not to go back with him, but the desire to be on her own was suddenly quite strong. “Actually, no. I just remembered somewhere I have to be. Oh, but if it’s not too much trouble, could you take this back to my dad and tell him I’ll see him at home later?” she said, handing him the bag with Kurt’s lunch.

He grimaced and then smiled. “Sure, no problem.”

“Thanks!” She leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek; he smelled of warm skin and shaving cream.

They said their goodbyes and she walked to her car, alone. She got in and sat for a minute or two before finally turning the key and heading off. Not actually having a place she needed to be, she randomly drove about until she found herself on the coast road going towards Mossbystrand. She used to go to that beach every now and then with her dad when she was a little girl, and the memories of summer kite flying and digging for seashells flooded her mind as she turned into the car park. She took off her sandals and walked along the beach with the water on her left, until she was well passed the swimming jetty, and the sound of the children playing in the surf had become muted and less piercing.

She chose a spot well away from the water and the other sunbathers and sat down, burying her toes into the warm sand. Now that she herself was still, her thoughts wandered idly back to the time she had just spent with the object of her affection (or obsession, more like). Her first impression of him had been confirmed: Magnus was a good man, with kind eyes and such a gentle manner. She had always gone more for the rough-and-tumble sorts that were never any good for her in the end, so this could make a welcome change. And she saw his ambition as a good thing; one should strive to better one’s place in the world.

But there had also been moments in which she had caught a glimpse of why he might rub her father the wrong way. He could be arrogant and so damn sure he was right he could barely even pretend to listen to another side. And ugh, he was a policeman. Perhaps her father didn’t like Magnus because he saw so much of himself in the young man. And did she really want to get involved with someone who reminded her that much of her dad’s less desirable qualities? So there among the “pros” were nestled some very weighty “cons” after all. Perhaps she was finally coming back down to earth at last; her vision certainly seemed clearer.

She leaned back on her hands and watched the surf gently bathe the sand in rolling waves of foam and sea spray. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself out beyond the breakers, floating along the current. There was her father, whom she had clung to as if to life itself after the gunshots had been fired. And there was Magnus, a world of possibilities, some known and some unknown. In her mind’s eye, she watched them float past, before she kicked away and settled into a steady stroke that brought her closer to the shore.

Her future remained as opaque to her as the depths of the sea, but she was certain of one thing: it didn’t include being a policeman’s wife. Besides, she was strong enough to swim on her own for a while.

She opened her eyes and began to dig a small hole in the sand with her fingers. Folding up the paper with Magnus’ number on it, she dropped it in, then covered the hole over and patted it flat. The sand felt dry and coarse on her skin as she brushed off her hands. She took a deep breath and hugged her knees to her chest, listening to the sound of the wind rustling the sea grass and the lonely cry of a gull overhead.

 

****

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Merry Yuletide, lilybeth84! I hope you don’t mind too much that they didn’t get together in the end. Linda was quite headstrong about where she wanted this to go.
> 
> (2) This is firmly set in the BBC!verse in which we know nothing of Magnus’ private life and he’s not wearing a ring, so book!verse wife and kids are non-existent (although I do draw on some other book!verse details for flavour).
> 
> (3) The title is taken from a quote by Henry Ellis: “All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.”
> 
> (4) Currently un-beta’d because I ran up against the deadline, so minor edits may occur after posting.


End file.
